


Head or Tail ?

by Unseen_Academical



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hogwarts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-27
Updated: 2020-02-13
Packaged: 2020-10-29 13:56:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20797712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Unseen_Academical/pseuds/Unseen_Academical
Summary: Sherlock starts his fifth-year at Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry. All would be tedious and boring but for the companionable presence of John and sometimes Molly. If they could stop chatting about the new transfer student everything would at least be tolerable. What was his name again ? It started with an M.





	1. Chat and gossip.

“- What do you say of this eh Sherlock ?”

John’s voice broke into Sherlock’s carefully crafted bubble of reflexion, where he was calmly admiring how dull a view could be. They had insisted he needed fresh air and had dragged him along. He needed to think of a way to fend them off next time.

“- Hum ?” He raised a brow in a gimmick generally acknowledged to signify Sherlock Holmes had not heard a single world pronounced in the last past hour. Half hour if you were lucky and he liked you.

“- We were discussing Moriarty !” Answered an overexcited Molly before John could start his usual ramble about Sherlock lack of attention.

“-Not him again.” Moaned Sherlock, leaning over the wooden railing of the bridge.

_ If you took the time to look down, it was quite a drop. Now hypothesising someone got pushed from the bridge, without a broom or other flying device to prevent the impact you could possibly interfere…_ John nudged him not so gently in the ribs to prevent him zoning out again. There was no escaping the conversation.

Moriarty was _the_ talk of Hogwarts since his arrival two weeks into the beginning of the school year. He was a transfer student, a rare enough occurrence to make him the hot topic of conversation in the castle for a while. But to top it all, Moriarty was not a conventional student. Rumours said his muggle father had refused to have him attend a wizardry school and that his mother had to home school him to the best of her abilities. From there the rumours started to get wild and unreliable, so no real point in paying attention to them. To cut a lot of rambling short, a 15 years old Moriarty had ended up in Hogwarts with a very uneven knowledge of wizardry. The teaching staff had compromised by enrolling him in the fourth year to see how he fared.

“- Well what about him then ?

“- They say he is good ! Excellent even !” Continued Molly with a kind of nervous, excited energy.

“- A genius.” Spat John, disheartened.

John disliked Moriarty on the basis that he had been sorted in Slytherin and that any Slytherin was a pompous brat that needed to be taken down a peg or two. Thankfully the Gryffindor house he belonged to was happy to help tackling this honourable task. There was no love lost between the two houses.

“- He is caching up real fast with the fourth year program so they are going to move him up in fifth year ! He is going to be with us Sherlock !!!” She was over enthusiastic.

Nothing much was necessary to get Molly’s enthusiasm, and the whole ‘new student that possibly needed help catching up’ had got her attention right away. Molly was helpfulness incarnate and as a Prefect of the Hufflepuff house she was good and ready to raise to the challenge. Well any challenge that could eventually come to happen, that implied people in need. Perhaps someone needed to heed Moriarty a friendly warning.

John groaned at the pitch of her voice and the perspective to have classes with the source of all those gossips. There would be no peace with the source of the endless chatter so close by. He could feel the beginning of a metaphorical headache mounting. He rubbed the bridge of his nose and pointedly sighted.

“- Well, I am the lucky one here. The Gryffindor only have herbology and care for magical creatures with the Slytherin.

Sherlock chuckled. Any course that had the Slytherin and Gryffindor pointing wands at each other always ended up being an utter disaster. Defence against the Dark Arts had proven to be a huge **no** when drafting the timetables. There was a rumour the timetable had to be approved by the Mrs Sirona the school nurse, before being made official.

Molly went on chastising John for his lack of tolerance and he pointed out some people did not deserve any. Sherlock let the friendly banter fall into the background noise and let his attention drift. John and Molly were orbiting him and tolerating his oddities which he was secretly grateful for. In Molly’s case he suspected she was passing him his fancies because she had a crush on him. He had tried to discourage her, and she had ended up a common companion often showing up for a chat. He had gotten accustomed to her and grown to appreciate her company. 

And John ? John was useful to have around. Provided you did not inform him beforehand of the dangers, he would gladly go along with any ploy Sherlock drafted. He would call Sherlock an irresponsible moron afterward though. But Sherlock knew his friend secretly thrived on those kinds of occasions and on telling them afterward to a horrified and flabbergasted Molly. John... Was a bit tougher than his jolly exterior would lead to believe. He had a true brand of courage and nerve, not like those other boasting morons Gryffindor had the knack to collect. John would endlessly bother you before you got into the action with an endless tirade of _“Don’t do this this is stupide and dangerous you half witted suicidal bastard”_. But when the time for actions came you could count on him to have your back (-or collect your back depending on the situation. There had been a time in the Forbidden forest where Sherlock had nearly been gutted by a unicorn and John’s shoulder had been a real comfort on the walk up to the Castel-). So, Sherlock had very little remorse to continuously dragging John along again and again.

Sherlock squinted his eyes at the path a little distance away. Mycroft was walking among his cronies. Thankfully he would not walk down the bridge, having nothing to do so far from the hub of the Castel. Mycroft was entering his seventh and last year at Hogwarts and had spent the summer talking about how important this year would be in term of networking to boost his chances at a high responsibility post in the Minister. He had puffed up considerably when he received his badge as a Head Boy of the Slytherin House. To his credit he had not scorned Sherlock down for not being appointed Prefect of house Ravenclaw as Sherlock would have expected him to. He had merely brushed the matter as unimportant before continuing his endless speech about opportunities and responsibilities. Slytherin was the house of the ambitious and there was a good reason Mycroft got sorted there. So a House of evil ? No, not really. A House of arseholes ? Most certainly.


	2. Draught of Peace

Sherlock was delighted that for their first potion class, Professor Slughorn had chosen to give them an appropriately difficult formula to prepare. The young man could not care less about the O.W.L.s level standards, and that this peculiar potion may prove difficult even for more experienced students or even qualified wizards. Sherlock just cared that the Draught of Peace brewing was proving to be a challenge and required his whole focus. He had shunted the rest of the room and only registered on a subconscious level the quiet hush of the other students' struggle with their preparation. Today’s class was double potion with both Slytherin and Ravenclaw students and _they_ were not of Sherlock’s heart concerning today’s potion. The loud sound of metal and wood creaking in protest of respect due to their old age popped Sherlock’s bubble and he snapped his head to the dungeon’s door, like the rest of the class. This laps in attention proved detrimental to the preparation of a fellow Ravenclaw whose cauldron started to puff out a dense pink fog.

A student clad in Slytherin green was standing on the threshold. He looked young and bewildered, with too wide eyes. Sherlock squinted his eyes. He did not remember seeing him among the younger students.

“- Moriarty my boy ! Come in, come in !” Said Pr. Slughorn with a fatherly tone, hurrying from his desk where he had been lazily monitoring the room. 

Ah. Moriarty. Oh course. Sherlock gave him a good once over before dismissing him and going back to his oh-so-interesting potion. He had looked a bit awkward and vain, gauche. A bit shy ? Molly was going to be head over heel with joy.

“- I was held by Professor Dippet sir.” Answered Moriarty in an apologetic voice.

“- No need to worry James, I understand perfectly. Let’s have you settled so you can get something out of this lesson, right?

The Potion Master eyes' scanned the room. Two students went unpaired. His eyes rested on Sherlock for half a second but even the benevolent nature of Professor Slughorn had come to recognise that for all his genius (-and especially in potions he was quite proud of the fact-) the young man could prove a bit difficult to work with. Sherlock working with someone in potion inevitably ended up with the other party gravely burned, or covered in pestilent liquid, or in extra fleshy protuberance depending on the day’s potion worst possible outcome. After a few trials and errors, it had thus been tacitly acknowledged by both students and Professor that Sherlock was best left to work alone.

The other unpaired student was Auror Fairweather, a nice, even tempered and hardworking Ravenclaw. That would do nicely.

“- Better pair you up with Miss Fairweather my boy. Try to catch up but, no worries, I won’t start grading you just yet. Try to make yourself comfortable and get your marks around the class hum?

\- Yes sir. Thank you sir.

The grovelling raked on Sherlock nerves. How dull people like Moriarty could be considered _likeable_ was beyond Sherlock’s understanding. He looked up from his satisfactorily red shaded potion (-most student were still at the ridiculously early stage of a blue hue. When a _proper_ stage could be identified-) to see the new student sit a few rows behind him next to a properly boring blond Ravenclaw girl. Sherlock dimly remembered her calling him a jerk after her robes _‘accidentally’_ took fire back when they were in a second year. A smile tugged at his lips at the memory. She had only wanted to pair with him hoping to raise her grades anyway. Moriarty caught his discreet look and answered what he must have thought was a smile addressed to him with a sheepish smile of his. Sherlock scowled before turning back to his own cauldron.

Everything seemed to settle for a bit in the quiet unrest of concentrated students who specifically don’t want to make a mistake that could potentially blow more than their mark. A low chatter from every pair, the sound of knives cutting and crushing, of potions bubbling and hissing. Wait… Hissing ? Sherlock was just quick enough to cast a shield to protect himself and his cauldron before the sudden outcry, flash of green light and a bang resounded in the classroom. He had gotten quite adept at detecting any potential explosions during his experiments and was pleased to see his cauldron was still bubbling gently and undisturbed.

Behind him the scene was a complete but localised mess. Years of experience had given Slughorn uncanny reflexes when it came to control potion miss-brewing damages, that could surprise people used to his benevolent and lazy character. A bright green liquid splattered heavily on and around Fairweather emitting dark sparkles and heavy low dark fumes. If the pained cries of Fairweather were anything to go by the sparkles must be burning hot.

\- There there girl, off you go to the infirmary. It’s not that bad. Even though I am not quite sure myself how you managed this one mistake. Very interesting !”

He vanished most of the offensive substance from her robes and the sobbing girl was escorted out of the classroom by the Prefect. Sherlock noted with a raised brow that Moriarty had somehow taken cover under the table and was miraculously uncovered with green sparking glue. He looked properly and innocently taken aback by the whole ordeal.

“- James this is not something that usually happens.” Started Slughorn, in a reassuring voice.

At that Sherlock snorted audibly but dissimulated it in a cough when Slughorn openly scowled at him.

“- Not something that happen if you do things properly which is what we are here to learn, aren’t we ? So back to your cauldron’s ladies and gents !” He brought Moriarty to Sherlock’s table, and continued in a hushed tone. “Sherlock my boy, do show your new classmate through this one for today.” He looked at the Ravenclaw boy pointedly. “And without any fuss if you please. Am I understood well and proper here ?”

Sherlock gave a curt node. It would not do to antagonise the Potion Master directly. The Professor took the occasion to give a peak inside his cauldron and hummed appreciatively before being on his way to tour the class. Sherlock’s table was up front and a little isolated on the side. It had no escaped Moriarty’s attention how the closest students had sensibly scooted away, even given the remote position of the table, as soon as Slughorn had paired him with the tall curled haired Ravenclaw. He smirked.

“- So my name is Moriarty. Jim Moriarty." He said, voice suddenly giving volume to the sentence. Going up and down on the vowels.

"- So have I gathered." Answered ‘Sherlock’ curtly.

Sherlock’s eyes flickered again to the other boy, surprised by the distinctive change of enunciation. Irish accent. A bit smaller than him, lean without being thin and carefully combed dark hair. Cheap but new robes, excessively well taken care of. Not in agreement with the way he was neglectfully leaning over the potion table and its various unidentified stains. ‘Jim’ was being mindful of what image he was displaying and crafting it to suit his needs. He started spinning a moonstone carelessly and that had Sherlock' whole attention snapping to him.

“- You don’t touch anything, and you don’t move or mix anything. If I see your hands within a 50cm radius from the cauldron, I’ll blow things up so bad the previous incident will look like cheap firework in comparison. Is that clear ?” Sherlock hissed.

The students on their left shot them an anxious look. Slughorn was on the other side of the room, assessing a concrete-like result from a group of Slytherins.

“- Whoa whoa !” Moriarty raised both hands in mock surrender and his mouth crooked in a mischievous smile. “I am fine watching. Never liked to get my hands dirty anyway”.

The rest of the class was spent with no more explosion nor major incident. Moriarty kept a safe distance away, looking Sherlock work with rapt attention. He asked questions here and there at some of Sherlock’s odd choices, when he deviated ever so slightly from the instructions. Sherlock found himself easily launching into extensive explanations and was surprised to see that, even if Moriarty was obviously ignorant of the finer aspects of the craft, he was quick witted and could follow a proper explanation easily. That contradicted his first impression very much.

After the class ended and Moriarty had packed up to follow the other Slytherin to their next lesson, Sherlock lingered behind. He wanted to give Fairweather’s desk a good look. Even if he was mostly unimpressed by Fairweather character he had to admit she was bright enough that such a screw up in potion was uncharacteristic. Besides, to the best of Sherlock’s knowledge, no mixing of the ingredients of the Draught of Peace ought to have yielded this result. Some of the exploded liquid remained behind, and Sherlock collected some to analyse later. He loved to unroot mysteries and dig up secrets. He loved to rub into people’s faces how _obvious _their petty schemes were. Molly said this was a big part of why people were casting him out. John said he did not care as long as the Slytherin were the ones at the end of the stick. To Sherlock the only thing that mattered was to prove he was better, and someone had been silly enough to weave something right in front of him. He smiled. The chase was on.


	3. Gunpowder

Sherlock slipped in the Great Hall and was greeted by the early morning quietness of the room. Only a handful of students were already up, munching their breakfast mechanically and fighting off drowsiness with the strongest coffee available. They were mostly seven years determined to make the most of their time before the dreaded end of year N.E.W.T.s examination. Sherlock considered grabbing a piece of toast, a cup of tea and retreat to his dormitory, but even that seemed to much of an effort after a full night spent in the dungeon. He had been trying to unmake the potion sample he had collected from Fairweather leftovers with mitigated success. The Great Hall was pleasantly quiet and perhaps indulging in breakfast wouldn’t hurt. He usually did not bother to show up and either Molly or John would stuff him with something at the morning break.

He was well into his third toast when Mycroft entered the Great Hall with two other Slytherins. Sherlock hopes to go unnoticed were severely disappointed when his brother stopped to look at him with raised brows, motioned for the two others to continue, and himself made his way up the Hall toward his position. He stopped right in front of Sherlock, his back to the Slytherin’s table. His tidy appearance was a sharp contrast from Sherlock’s wrinkled robes and tangled curls and Mycroft’s nose crunched in disapproval.

“- You’ve been up all night again haven’t you ? Tinkering in the dungeons again. What can have possibly caught your interest so early in the year ? You usually wait a little longer before blatantly going around begging for detentions.

\- How do you know it was the dungeons ?” Answered Sherlock, ignoring the questions.

Sherlock found it infuriating that whatever the precaution he took, Mycroft always knew what he had been about. His older brother always caught on the faintest details and what had started as a game had turned into something more… Personal. A challenge for both to get the upper hand.

“- The Great Hall is on the way from the dungeons to the Ravenclaw tower.” Mycroft shrugged. “According to your … Untidy appearance, I don’t think you would have bothered with breakfast otherwise.”

Sherlock grunted in reluctant acknowledgement and went back to torturing his toast. But Mycroft drew closer and continued in a hushed whisper.

“- Listen Sherlock I need a favour. There is a bunch of new entries in the Muggle section of the library that I wish to have a look at.”

He slipped a piece of parchment to Sherlock who just rolled his eyes and put it in his pocket. This was an old dynamic of theirs. Mycroft, as a Slytherin member, judged being forward with his interest in Muggle technologies and politics would be detrimental to his image. Though he was certain his fellow wizards lack of awareness concerning Muggle ingenuity and the destructive capabilities of their contraptions was the definition of moronic he kept quiet with it. He entrusted Sherlock with the retrieval of books and such. Sherlock was compensated accordingly depending on what he needed on the moment, wherever it was access to more freedom or classified substances and books. So far, this specific truce between brothers had been going on smoothly and gone largely unnoticed by their peers.

“- I’ll get you your books Mycroft. Now if you don’t mind you’ve crudely interrupted my wooing of the coffee pot. Besides your absence is vexing Miss Hookpins, you’d better go back to your fawning crew with hast before it goes political and beyond salvaging.”

Mycroft sighted wearily at the prospect of the young lady’s company.

“- She is a true harpy and you don’t even fathom the beginning of it. I’ll be waiting for the books brother dear. Have a good day.” He clipped at last, before turning back with a quick gait to his table.

His brother gone Sherlock’s mind was free to comb the evidences he had gathered from the potion once more as he munched his bland toast. Combined with the explosion’s specifics… There was but one compound that fitted the bill.

**_________________________________________________________**

“- Gunpowder ?” Repeated John with bewilderment and raised eyebrows. “Isn’t that the… You know…”

He made a gun gesture with his hand and went silently _‘bang!’_ with it.

“- It is what is used in guns to combust and create an explosion that propels the bullet yes. It is also akin to what is commonly used in the crafting of fireworks, so not hard to come by.”

Sherlock had taken an interest in Muggle craft almost as soon as Mycroft had started to ask him to smuggle him books from the library. It had started as a hungry curiosity for what he had perceived as his older brother little secret and had continued as a genuine interest of his. John often found himself the unlucky recipient of Sherlock enthusiasm when a peculiar topic got his attention. He had gotten good at bearing it patiently knowing that the interest was often but a fleeting fancy. Sherlock liked to observe a mechanism or subject but would soon grow disinterested once he had figured out its inner working. Except for chemistry that was so close to his beloved potion making. He had been delighted to figure out a way to continue experimenting during the summer holiday without breaking the underage restriction on magic outside Hogwarts. According to Sherlock there was a lot you could do without using magic and John was happy to believe him without a proper demonstration.

But sometimes a subject would interest John too. He had liked the gun topic for example. How Muggles had managed to safely incite and contain explosion AND make a (rather) safe use (on the side of the user) of the blast to propel bullets of various size had bewildered him. He had been enthusiastic at the idea of cannons.

“- Charcoal, saltpetre and sulfur.” Recited Sherlock dutifully.

“- What ?” Answered John, a bit lost.

“- That are the component of gunpowder.

\- These are basic. I am sure I have all three of them in my potion kit.

\- Yes, but none of them were part of the day’s potion ingredient list !” Sherlock gave a meaningful look at John. The one that meant Sherlock was several steps of deduction in front of him and was convinced John had followed him through.

“- And ?

\- It means it was no clumsiness or mistake. Someone blew the cauldron purposefully. Someone intelligent enough to know the potency of a non-magic ingredient. When someone pulls a prank, they inevitably go for the most highly magically charged ingredient they can spare.

\- Which is usually enough to screw things up.” Pointed out John helpfully.

“- Yes, but it is also easily traceable. A non-magical substance leaves almost no trace and it’s been a hell to isolate. I don’t see them grinding the gunpowder during the class so it must have been ready beforehand. They also must also have very little practical knowledge of potion making since there are so many more easier ways to ruin a Draught of Peace that the use of…

\- That what Slughorn has coming for our first lesson ??” Squeaked John indignantly. “A Draught of Peace ?

\- … Gunpowder was really unnecessary.” Sherlock sighted in annoyance at the interruption. “Why are you complaining ? You’ll be having potion with the Hufflepuff, so you’ll be all right teaming up with Molly anyway.”

But John was now deadest on accusing Slughorn unrealistic expectations and many more. According to him the teaching staff must have gone insane during the summer break, asking the impossible out of them poor student. Afflicting upon them an ungodly amount of homework. He ended his litany with a sad shake of head and a last statement about how the OWLs could not warrant such torture and long hours out of the sun and away from the Quidditch field.

Sherlock had clearly been amused by his dithyramb but had stayed silent afterward, his gaze going a bit dreamy and unfocused as he lost himself in his own thoughts.

“- So any idea who might have done it ?

\- Hum ?

\- The splashing of sparking green goo.

\- Oh yes. I got a pretty good hypothesis. But it needs a bit more digging.” Sherlock answered vaguely.

He had a pretty good idea yes. Someone who fitted the details. But that warranted a bit more of an investigation. To get a better view, he needed a better picture of Moriarty.


	4. A Gryffindor’s mistake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter ?  
All comments more than welcome !

‘Hey freak !’

Sherlock paused his action for a second, just long enough to gather his patience and fetch his sass, before settling for feigned deafness and continue to put his stuff away. John, on the other hand, turned to welcome Donovan with crossed arms and a frown. The other students chatted and filled out the Defence against the Dark Arts classroom with lunch at the forefront of their minds. Dumbledore had left already, and Donovan closed the distance between them in a few steps. She was one year older than them, Gryffindor, and had concluded that falling on Sherlock at the end of lessons was still her best chance to close on him when she needed it. He was currently thinking a way around this.

‘Holmes !’

‘Yes, I heard you the first time Donovan. What is it that you want this time ?’ He seethed. ‘Lost your sweet roll have you ?’

‘Oh ! Gotten a bit touchy this year haven’t you ? Getting old doesn’t suits you.’

‘Your point perhaps ?’ Asked John shortly.

She gave John a good once over and a smile tugged at her lips. John was not a tall man and she had a way to joke wordlessly about it. Her gaze returned to Sherlock that was still stubbornly showing her his back.

‘Lestrade wants to see you. Got a job for you.’ She shrugged with faked carelessness.

Sherlock threw his bag across his shoulder and tried to double cross her to get to the door.

‘So nice of you to play the messenger owl. I’ll drop by whenever, if I get bored.’

But she got in his way. She was rather more agile, and action indulged than her carful exterior suggested. Sherlock knew from direct sighting she was very able to give someone a good kick in when needed, which was a must for a Gryffindor prefect. Some Gryffindors needed a very direct approach when explained things and her petty curses were renowned and source of fear among pranksters and evil doers of her House (and others).

‘It’s urgent.’ She insisted, standing in front of him with her arms crossed.

‘Do you have to do that ?’ Asked John from the side, looking one and the other. ‘The power play ? Is this really necessary ?’

Sherlock held Donovan stare with a knowing smile. He took her in: set jaw, grim look and stiff posture. She was not happy about being sent to ask Sherlock’s help, vexed, thinking it probably unnecessary. Good. The rather satisfying fact _he _was on the brink to outgrow her was just a bonus. He would take endless pleasure in down staring her when proving her limited.

‘Fine. I’ll drop by in a jiffy. Just need to make a detour first.’

He could clearly see her hesitation in letting him past, her distrust in his word and sheer stubbornness in blocking his was. But then she just shrugged in a clear ‘not my job’ fashion and gave way. The fact she had even gone so far as pass the message was a testimony to her respect for Lestrade and she was not going to make zeal. Sit was not she hated Sherlock _per se, _not really. More like she hated the way Lestrade relied on him and how Sherlock took evident pleasure to rub it in their face when he got them out of a tight spot.

\-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

‘Erhm, Sherlock ?’ Ventured John as he tried to keep up with the Ravenclaw’s long strides. ‘The Great Hall is the other way around. Just so you know, since it is, you know, _lunch time_.’

It was a lost cause and he knew it. He could see from Sherlock’s gait that whatever Lestrade needed it had hooked the Ravenclaw interest, and that lunch had left for a better world where people cared for it. He hoped whatever Lestrade needed Sherlock’s help with would be up to his standard or Sherlock would be brooding for days after such a hook up.

‘Sherlock ?’ He insisted, nonetheless. They were headed for the dungeons and that was definitely the opposite direction from the Gryffindor tower where Lestrade would be waiting for them.

‘Just need to drop this for Mycroft first.’ Sherlock answered, pointing to a few books that were weighting down his bag.

‘Why the hurry ?’ John asked, puzzled.

He knew of the arrangement between the brothers and Mycroft strange power plays. But Sherlock would never get out of his way to complete the errant, making certain to take all the time in the world. Petty rivalry, he had concluded after a while.

‘I need something from him.’ He answered, taking a folded parchment from his pocket and waving it for John to see.

‘Nothing toxic and explosive again I hope ?’ The memory was painfully vivid. Sherlock had found the experience fascinating and never quite gotten why John had freaked out.

‘That only worked once, now he checks.’ He replied, a touch of plaintiveness to his voice.

He checked the note and, satisfied, opened a book and tucked the little piece of paper inside the cover. Sherlock usually dropped the books in disused nondescript potion classroom, not too far from Slytherin common room. On the way the corridors were a little busy with Slytherins going to and from lunch. People had stopped questioning Sherlock’s roaming in the dungeons for ages, but John got a few sneers and sidestepped a tripping curse. Nobody targeted Sherlock, he was known to have a mean temper and very little restraint in term of retribution. And he had a creative spirit. Rumours said Mrs Sirona had to ask him at least once how to lift one of his petty curses.

‘Ah ! Anthea, always a pleasure !’ Sherlock said with fake cheerfulness, as he found the room already occupied.

John startled. and indeed, here stood the Slytherin girl, distractedly fidgeting with morphing clay pad. At some point, and after witnessing how effectively Muggles managed communications, Mycroft had gotten terminally pissed at wizard slow ways to pass messages. His best contraption so far had been a Protean Charm on a refreshing little clay tablet. A variant of the Diffindo spell placed on one’s thumb and you did not have to even bother with a hardened quill. He had given Sherlock one which was, of course, dully ignored and buried under a pile of mess in his wardrobe.

‘Hey.’ She answered with a bright affected smile, just glancing quickly up from the wretched thing.

‘How…’ John started, before shutting this line of questioning for later. ‘Hey. Nice to see you again.’

She looked up again with some puzzlement.

‘We have met already. I am John ? Watson ?’ He hinted, hoping for some sort of recognition.

She went for a polite ‘Oh.’

‘Forget it.’ Cut Sherlock, slamming the pile of books in her arms. ‘And give my brother my love.’ He ended in, with his most disturbing over sweet smile.

Turning on his heels as fast as he had come around the corner, Sherlock was already dashing off. John looked back to a last chance at wooing the quite dashing Slytherin (- he could forget his Gryffindor’s pride if it was worth it -) but she had vanished.

‘Secret passage.’ He huffed. ‘Of course, there would be a bloody secret passage. Not flashy enough otherwise, right ?’

He caught up with Sherlock on the way up the dungeons for what he could guess was the Gryffindor’s common room.

‘Did you arrange to meet up with her ?’

‘No’

‘Then could you tell me how is it your brother always seem to know ?’ There was a hint of irritation in John’s voice.

‘Know what ? You are going to have to be more precise John.’

‘For fuck sakes Sherlock !’ He had been the recipient of Mycroft… Efficiency a couple of time and found it slightly unnerving. ‘How does he tracks your whereabout ? He knew you would be there and the exact moment !’

‘Oh, that. I have several hypotheses. He probably criss-crosses different sources of tracking, magical and human, nothing hard really. Probably wooed a few paintings.’

‘That’s … weird right ? Why does he do it’

Sherlock shrugged and his face took an unconcerned turn.

‘Probably afraid I am going to vanish any day now.’

‘What ? Why ?’ Laughed John. ‘Really, your brother can be quite silly sometimes.’

Sherlock just gave him a sidelong look and no answer. It was a bit awkward, but he knew his friend well and Sherlock probably just could not get the comic absurdity of the situation. So, he let it slip.

‘_Crimson Phoenix._’ Enunciated Sherlock clearly.

John had been so engrossed in the conversation, following Sherlock on autopilot, he had not even noticed they were at the Fat Lady’s portrait yet. Said lady was currently watching them with a suspicious look.

‘You are no Gryffindor young man.’ She answered Sherlock, with a tremolo to her voice. God did she pick up singing again ?

‘But I said the password,’ he smiled his twat smile, ‘so could you please abide your primary function and _move._’

The Fat Lady huffed and gathered her dignity before ponderously sliding open.

‘How _come_ you know the password Sherlock ?’ John whispered hurriedly, following the Ravenclaw in the hole leading to the common room.

‘Please John. Beside, _Crimson Phoenix _? Couldn’t you guys have gone for something more cliché ?’

It told a long story that Lestrade, Head Boy of house Gryffindor, did not straight out kick out the intruding Ravenclaw out of the tower. Instead, relief painted his face at Sherlock appearance. Sherlock had a way to go around rules and everybody at some point either (a) owed him or (b) really did not see the benefit in crossing him.

‘Congratulations are in order I suppose ?’ Sherlock asked, gesturing to the shinning badge pinned to Lestrade’s robes. The year was still relatively new, and they had not yet crossed path.

‘I would never have guessed how much trouble I would have to deal with because of this wretched thing. You can not guess what stupide stuff they come up with.’

‘Something good ?’ Sherlock almost whined, perking up at Lestrade’s weary voice, following the older boy up the stairs.

He led them up the tower and above the dormitories where a more private room was situated. Probably a room you could request and that usually served as storage and meeting point for the prefects. It was very dusty.

‘Not good, not really.’

In the middle of the room sat two Gryffindors, their faces covered in purple and yellow spots. The spots spelled, quite clearly against their pale skins, -_THIEVE-’._


	5. Tea Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello ! Looks like this is turning into a real fic !  
Please do leave comments, it is so heart warming (and motivating) to hear from you fellows, who read this fic !  
I hope you'll enjoy this chapter ! xoxo

Sherlock took a deep breath in and let go a long, weary sight.

‘So, let me get that right. Your two morons over there,’ The two younger Gryffindor flinched, ‘though it would be a terrific idea to go and steal some dark magic artefact Professor Merrythought had brought up during her lesson.’

‘Nothing really dark.’ Interrupted Lestrade with a shrug. ‘A little enchanted powder that blackens out light in a room when you throw a pinch of it.’ He elaborated at John’s raised brow.

‘Yes, yes, they’ve not gone for something completely suicidal yet. My congratulations.’ Sherlock snapped. ‘So, they go in the locked cupboard, take the box of enchanted powder and …’

‘… Set off the protective ward of course.’ John ended, trailing on Sherlock reasoning.

‘Confusion ensue,’ Sherlock continues, ‘one of them drops the box, powder escaped and pitch out the light. The box is lost, and they make their escape, hoping not to be pinched for the mess they’ve made. Only to find out soon enough it’s not going to be _that easy._’

At this point a clear little anguished sound escapes the girl on the left. One of the spots spelling so elegantly ‘_thief’_ on her face exploded, letting a bright green liquid go. Sherlock gives her a glance, trailing on the spots an analytical eye.

‘This curse is an after effect of the ward trigger and a little joke from Professor Merrythought. She sees this as a practical exercise in defence against the Dark Arts. In short if you trespass, you’d better expect a lot of troubles to befall you. I thought everyone knew her methods.’ He paused, looking at Lestrade again. ‘I recognise the curse, if they reposition the box where they found it to begin with the spots will clear soon enough. This is but a deterrent.’

‘I know Sherlock, that’s what I told them to do in the first place. Trouble is,’ Lestrade continued, holding the bridge of his nose in frustration, ‘the box is gone.’

‘What do you mean ?’

‘Box’s gone. I went to look for it myself, but it was nowhere to be found. Someone must have pinched it. I was hoping you could look into it.’

Sherlock gave him a flat look.

‘You are hoping I am going to find the box ?’

‘You got your… Methods…’

‘I _deduce _things ! If the box was just laying there for anyone to take there is very little chance they’ve left any clue behind. I can’t do the impossible, I am no wizard !’ There was a look of puzzlement on Lestrade face and before he could ask Sherlock sighted. ‘Forget it.’

He paused taking in the two sobbing Gryffindors before turning his back to them and whispering to Lestrade.

‘I’ll have a look at it, but I don’t have much hopes. They are probably in for a whole lot of detentions. That whomever got the box is going to boast about it is our best bet. Keep your ears open.’

Lestrade nodded and Sherlock took his leave, his mood in clear freefall. Perhaps he was negative and there really would be something to gather from the scene ? Would be a waist not to even have a look around. Anyway, there still was plenty of lunchtime left and that’s not like he had anything better to do.

\--------------------------------------------------------------------

Professor Merrythought had elected to teach Defence against the Dark Arts in a little amphitheatre on the second floor. Practical sessions were held elsewhere. Adjoining the bottom of the amphitheatre and backing the teaching stand was a door, which lead to a smaller room : a little office that doubled as a storage room. This place kept the artefacts and objects Professor Merrythoughts used in her teachings, that did not require much supervision. The _Charcoal Pepper Black Powder_ entered this category. Getting into the office never was a problem. It was _getting out_ that had proven a challenge for aplenty curious students.

‘Nobody would have just happened to find the box laying around Sherlock, he would have had to get into the closed classroom, then into the back room before noticing anything about.’ John pointed out.

‘Sure,’ Sherlock acknowledged, going down the steps of the amphitheatre, ‘but it would be hardly surprising they either boasted about their little plan and someone followed them, or the mess they made attracted the attention of a passer-by. Subtlety has never been the _forte_ of your house John.’

John had to grunt a defeated acknowledgement. Sherlock pushed the office’s door open.

‘We want to keep the door open, otherwise it will lock us in.’

‘Charming. Have you been visiting already ?’

‘Couple times.’

The little room was surprisingly tidy. Everything looked in order but for the door of the curiosity cabinet that was slightly ajar. Sherlock sprang nonetheless into action, looking at every corner. John knew the drill : no magic here, just Sherlock acute mind and senses. He often said wizards were relying on their magic so much it became a crutch to them, both on a practical and intellectual degree.

After a couple of minutes, he stopped his feverish investigation with a frustrated huff.

‘Got anything ?’

‘Not a speck of dust that shouldn’t be here, but for what our Gryffindor friends brought with them. They’ve made a mess. Whoever got in there after them was a bit more careful.’ 

He shut up, his gaze un-focusing a little and his hands brought together in his thinking pose.

‘We will have to wait for him to make a mistake and catch him then. Better keep our eyes open John !’

There was a bit of silence as Sherlock kept drifting his gaze aimlessly around. He had hoped for something better from Lestrade. John knew it was a now-or-never moment, and that he had to catch Sherlock unaware in his moment of weakness.

‘So what about lunch ?’ He stated dynamically.

\--------------------------------------------------------------

The day drifted into the afternoon on a mostly unsated stomach. Since it was a Monday, Sherlock and John were sharing almost all their classes and the afternoon finished with herbology. Sherlock had taken to linger after the class to gather samples and work on projects of his own. John was convinced that if the herbology professor knew half the things Sherlock was using his samples for, he would not be half as eager to encourage his hard work. He was currently cutting leaves from a plant kept outside the greenhouse, in the exterior garden.

John on the other hand, was dosing lightly on the lawn, enjoying the last remnant of a late summer warmth. The weather was nice, and he was determined to soak up as much sun as possible, in sheer opposition with the amount of homework waiting for him to seat inside. He was too hungry to work anyway, and Molly was to show up any minute now.

It was a little ritual that dated back from their second year. Molly and Sherlock were having herbology together at that time and she had gotten to stick around at the end of the class. At some point she had started to bring snacks after noticing Sherlock poor eating habit (-she was friend with the house elves, and they would provide her with considerable amount scones, butter and cream whenever, which was in John’s opinion, fantastic.-). At some point John had taken notice of the food and one thing another it had become a habit and bloomed into a full tea party. To Sherlock admitted puzzlement as everything kind of just happened without him really consenting to anything.

John heard Molly distinctive laugh and perked up. Only to frown and curse right away.

‘Psst Sherlock. What’s that ?’ He asked.

Sherlock flickered his eyes up from the plant he was carefully adding fertilizer to, drop by drop, and frowned too.

On the lawn, approaching steadily and helping Molly balance cakes and tea-stuff, was no other than Moriarty. He was beaming, visibly engrossed in his discussion with Molly and obvious of the rest. He looked… Very open.

‘I have no idea.’ Replied Sherlock flatly.

Molly closed the distance in under a minute. She looked radiant and very excited. She _liked_ Moriarty Sherlock concluded in a few glances.

‘Guys ! I brought someone along !’

That snapped Moriarty attention from Molly to whomever she was addressing. He was evidently enthusiastic to greet Molly’s friends. His smile melted the second when his gaze fell upon Sherlock his expression freezing in-between awkward an… Afraid ?

‘Jim, this is Sherlock Holmes. And in the grass is John Watson. You guy recognise Jim of course !’

First name basis then. ‘Jim’ was twitching a bit at the sudden attention he was receiving, clearly not at ease. He looked shy and uncomfortable. Sherlock frowned. He was acting so unlike his confident and witty self from the potion course.

‘Molly said she’d like to introduce me to some new people. I had no idea …’ He managed with the help of Molly cheerful smile.

‘We met during classes and I thought it would be nice to have someone new around, what do you think boys ?’

The question was purely rhetoric and she started busying herself. She loved getting the tea sorted, practicing a spell Sherlock had shown her in first year to warm up the water in the teapot directly. Under considerable pressure he had admitted his mother had taught him the trick early on. Moriarty tried to give a hand at first but was shooed after clumsily kicking a plate down and was left standing a bit aimless. John took pity on him, knowing very little help or conversation was likely to come from Sherlock.

‘Hey pale, just… I don’t know, sit down ? I don’t think we’ve had classes together yet.’

‘Tomorrow perhaps ? I got Care of Magical Creatures tomorrow with the Gryffindors.’ Moriarty answered in a soft, hesitant voice.

‘You took that elective ?’ Asked John with a raised brow.

‘I am testing them out. Professor Dippet allowed me to get an overview before setting for a subject.’ He fidgeted a bit. ‘Any advices perhaps ?’

‘Well, we will be together in Care of Magical Creatures tomorrow. I like it, it is nice to be able to see the beasts from up close and learn about them and their habit.’ Sherlock snorted a bit at that. John continued a bit more cross. ‘Sherlock took the subject too, but he would tell you it is mainly to know how not to get his arm reaped off when he goes for Acromentula venom.’

‘Sorry for having a practical mind.’ Sherlock snapped in the background.

‘A lot of people take it.’ Molly intervened. ‘It’s quite nice and the teacher is good. John and I took up divination as our second elective.’ She gave a nervous glance to Sherlock, who was mercifully temporarily distracted trying to untangle his shear from plant tendrils that had sneaked upon his gears as he was focusing on Moriarty and continued. ‘I find it interesting, John doesn’t, and Sherlock hates it.’ She stated fast in a low voice.

‘Better not get him started on divination.’ John acknowledged with a painful expression.

Moriarty just nodded nervously. Sherlock had given up on the shears, that were now entangled in a mass of vegetation slowly retreating in the underbrush. He grabbed a cup and a biscuit and stood, observing Moriarty. Moriarty just gulped, his body leaning subconsciously back.

‘I am taking Ancient Runes as a second option. Bidding my time until I can switch for Alchemy next year, but good enough as far as mandatory waste of time goes.’ Sherlock stated finally in a flat and unemotional voice. ’Arithmancy is good if you got a fancy for number and enough brain space in need of allocation I guess.’

Something shifted in Moriarty’s eyes. Sherlock frowned a little, unsure of what he had just noticed exactly. Jim’s eyes looked a bit darker. A trick of the light ? 

‘What’s Arithmancy about ?’ He asked, his voice poised and curious, his head slightly tilting to the side.

‘It’s very difficult. It is all about how magic and numbers intertwine.’ Molly explained.

‘Do they now ?’ Asked Jim with a bit of disbelief. ‘Never would have thought math to have anything to do with magic.

‘Math ?’ Pointed out John, a little lost.

‘Mathematics,’ cut Sherlock out, ‘Muggle subject concerned with numbers and abstract logic.’

His gaze was riveted on Moriarty, who just gave him a big, exaggerated smile in response. He had noticed Sherlock’s attention and puzzled expression and looked like he was finding it funny. Shyness seemingly vanished and stance sure. The contrast was no different from his first impression during the potion class. Sherlock tilted his head to the side in a discreet question, but Moriarty just smirked before turning his attention to the conversation between Molly and John.

‘I am just saying I am making up most of my explanations in divination. Miss Shawler never took ‘brownish goo’ as an answer for my tea leaf examination.’

‘It’s about interpretation of tenuous magical thread ! I don’t see why we could go about waving wands and have bottomless bags but not have means to grasp the future !’

Molly grandmother was a muggle and she had a lot to say about how nonsensical the magic world felt to her. She was never weary to point out to her daughter (who had long since learnt to filter out the grumble) and her grand daughter (who was proving a far better listener) what must be possible for a witch to do. It involved, of course, fixing most of her problems.

Moriarty, Sherlock noticed after a while, looked like he was having trouble staying awake. His eyes were heavy and Molly speech was helping very little in keeping him focused. At some point he just flickered his head a bit, as to shake the sleepiness off, and yawned.

‘I am sorry to leave you, but I’d better be off. Still a lot to catch up with.’ He gave as an excuse.

‘You need help with anything ? Molly proposed helpfully.

‘I’m fine.’ This deflated her enthusiasm. ‘See you tomorrow in herbology I guess ?’ He added tactfully.

‘Yeah !’ She beamed.

She waited until Jim was on his way to the castle before turning to them with a question clear on her face. She asked it nevertheless.

‘So ? What do you think of him ?’

‘Seems a decent enough fellow, for a Slytherin.’ John shrugged. ‘A bit shy perhaps ?’

‘Sherlock ? Your first impression ?’ She asked nervously. It was clear she was adamant to have Moriarty around a bit more, and Sherlock acknowledging him would facilitate her endeavour.

‘Not my first impression.’

‘What ?’ She asked, a little puzzled.

‘Not my first impression. We met already. He is my partner in potion.’

Both Molly and John froze and looked at him with wide, surprised eyes.

‘He is your what ?!’ They asked in a same, bewildered voice.

‘We have been paired up. What’s the fuss about it ?’

Both looked at him in silence for a few more seconds. Then John stated :

‘No wonder he looked terrified to see you.’


	6. Hogsmeade visit

Sherlock was surprised, startled even when instead of an inconspicuous pile of books and a neatly pinned note in an empty dungeon he found a very absorbed Mycroft leaning comfortably on the most uncomfortable looking straight-backed chair available. He knew Mycroft would have looked both at ease and powerful to any onlooker, but to Sherlock he just looked like an overpompous git. With a flick of a wrist, Mycroft held a few sheets of parchment to him, not looking bothering to shift his focus to his brother. He probably was not looking at anything in the room really.

Sherlock glanced at the seal on the parchment and frowned as he recognised the familiar pattern of their uncle’s seal, before charming it open. The parchment contained a profile and information, in a neat cursive, on _James Moriarty_. Sherlock eyes scanned the sheets with growing puzzlement.

.

The first sheet contained a basic profile with age, sex, size, eye colour, eyebrow and nostril spacing… His nationality was listed as a US citizen and, Sherlock raised a brow, attested by a muggle birth certificate. A stamp at the end of the document attested Irish nationality had been freshly granted, roughly a year ago.

The second sheet held greater interest as it appeared to contain informal notes from an interview that had happened upon his entry on the UK territory, on November 1954. Moriarty would have been about 14 then. The script had the tell-tale curve of the standard ministry issued Quick-Quote Quill.

‘_Hello James. I am Wilhelmina Amalia. Before we start, do you know why you are here?’_

_‘Hello miss Amalia. This interview is part of the procedure to pass my guard as a ward of the Magical Congress of the United States of America to the British ministry of Magic.’_

_‘Quite so, James. It has been established by the MACUSA you have living relatives in Ireland on your mother side. Magical living relative that is. I know the MACUSA must have gone though this with you already, but it is unclear wherever you got relatives on your father side. Have you anything more to give us on this?’_

_‘My mother rarely talked about him. When he was still with us, she was very strict about me not spooking him with… magic, I guess. He left her when I was about five, miss. I don’t remember him that much. I am sorry.’_

_ -Muggle father- _Had been quickly scratched in the margin.

_‘Did you have to hide your magic from your father James?’_

_‘Yes. Mother said I was not to do any magic if I was not alone with her. She said if people found out we would be in trouble.’_

_‘She taught you then?’_

_‘Not really. She could not do any… magic herself. She tried to explain me a thing or two, but she mostly gave me books to read, and covered things up if something went wrong. Nothing bad usually. Mostly I tended to blow things up a little.’_

_‘How did you get a wand to practice?’_

_‘I don’t have a wand miss.’ _

Apparently, the silence that had ensued had been long enough for the Quick-Quote Quill to find inspiration of its own and doodle an inspired portrait of Moriarty. It looked sheepish.

_‘Am I in trouble miss?’ _

A report from MACUSA attested the boy’s mother was deceased from a muggle aliment. The boy had been found out fast, as he used a little magic to fend for himself in the street. Enquiry identified his mother as part of an old pureblood Irish family. There had been a lull of uncertainty as his relative delayed their acknowledgement of his lineage. His mother had been a squib but the fact she descended so low as to flee to the US and gone on to have an extramarital child with a muggle was apparently a lot to cope with for the old family. In the end his aunt had graciously accepted to take care of him, and arrangement had been done to transfer him in Britain. 

The third and last sheet contained dated reports from a tutor that had been depeached by the ministry to help the young wayward to catch up on his admittedly lacking education. The sheet was covered in startled praise at James quick wit and easy grasp of magic. They ended up about a year from the first entry with a note vouching for his quick enrolment at Hogwarts_._

_._

‘So? Your thought about this?’ Mycroft asked the moment he was done scanning the intel.

Mycroft was nonplussed. The fact that he had gone through the trouble of giving Sherlock the information first-hand meant something was bugging or worrying him. Something was _wrong_.

‘Her death is… uncanny.’

The mother. Wizards were resistant. They did not die of muggle illnesses: it took something magical to get them down. Admittedly she was a squib, but wizard blood took time to water down to the point resistance got affected. His eyes flickered once more to the parchment and caught on the offending seal.

‘That’s evident Sherlock. I hoped for a little more brother dear.’ Mycroft drawled.

‘And enrolling uncle Rudy’s help was overstepping.’ He snapped back at Mycroft annoying tone.

‘Please.’ He scoffed haughtily.

Sherlock gave him a dark, pointed look and Mycroft sighted in weariness.

‘That is ridiculous Sherlock and you know it.’

They had gone at it already a hundred time, but Sherlock’s anger just boiled up and simmered in his veins every single time.

‘Uncle Rudy is a powerful man, shunting him us from him is a grievous mistake in term of influence and…’

‘He’s shut her in Mycroft!’ He yelled.

‘I know! And that was the only sane thing left to do!’ Mycroft snapped back.

They looked each other without a blink for a long time before irritation itched Sherlock enough for him to turn on his heel and slam the door of the dungeon. Mycroft did not twitch a muscle for a long time, as the echo took forever to stop bouncing back and forth accusingly, only to leave an empty and terrible silence in its wake. 

‘They are taking care of her in Sherrinford.’ He muttered brokenly to the cold, bare room.

\-------------------------------------------------

Weeks passed and soon the winter weather started a patient and determined takeover of the last autumnal remnant. Soon the castle would wake up coated in thin frost, and life would take an inward turn as students would just retreat to dedicated warm places of cosiness and study, let it be the common rooms or library, to flee the icy corridors and castle ground. But the seasonal creeping chill had been doing little to temper the unabashed enthusiasm of students for the nearing first Hogsmeade trip and the quick to follow overture of the Quidditch season with the traditional Gryffindor VS Slytherin match.

Sherlock was pissed. He was pissed about the weather that had frozen his dittany, he was pissed by the gleeful 3rd years who could not shut up about their very first Hogsmeade visit and he was pissed because now he would have to suffer them all the way down the village since he would have to buy the bloody dittany to ease the itch. He passed his hand over his face and sighted in weary irritation. And don’t get him started on the Quidditch. The sport was ludicrous, his fellow student enthusiasm for it tiresome and the fact the score added directly to the House Points an absolute fraud. The only good point of the whole circus was that John seemed to thoroughly enjoy himself. He was a beater for the Gryffindor team and there was little else that had him beaming so brightly than a well-aimed strike. Sherlock had a theory about it that involved repressed need for violence, but John always scoffed him down and called him an idiot.

‘It’s sport Sherlock.’ He would say with a big grin. ‘Nothing more!’

And so was it that for John, Sherlock tolerated Quidditch babbling and hype with as much good grace as he could muster (which summarised as him not cursing every other moron that so much as mentioned it). He was trying to summon such restraint right now, as he was bidding his patience in front of the gates and waiting for John and Molly to show up. He was hoping to bypass the flock of students going down the village but as minutes ticked without any of them showing up, he just resigned to have to walk down the village among overexcited younger children.

_Finally _mopes of familiar hazel made their appearance. Accompanied. Molly and Moriarty were advancing side to side, exchanging cakes they had obviously plundered from breakfast with candid obliviousness and youthful joy. John was walking next to them, nibbling on a toast and looking distinctively uncomfortable at their fussing. His face lit up with relief when his eyes fell on Sherlock. He quickened his pace.

‘Oh God thank you. Don’t you dare leaving me alone with them.’ He whispered hurriedly before Molly could hear.

‘Sherlock!’ Molly exclaimed, a little flustered and obviously not having expected him. ‘Going to Hogsmeade?’

Moriarty had fell back a step behind Molly and was looking as he wanted to go transparent. He was good at just… Fading in the background and look unremarkable.

‘Obviously. Can’t avoid it I got specific shopping to do.’

John and Molly knew better than to offer to do his shopping for him. Somehow however precise his instruction, whatever item John or Molly bought for him was never quite right. John shrugged but was visibly happier now that he got confirmation Sherlock was in for the ride. Moriarty though, had blanched a little even if he made a good job to keep a straight face.

It had gone on like that for weeks now and it was driving Sherlock crazy. Either Moriarty would be a brilliant flash of wit and cleverness, a little dark even, seeking him out and toeing the line, or he would hide from Sherlock and affect a dull, sheepish and timid personality. It was like playing a game of cat and mouse, but not quite knowing who the chaser and chased were. And of course, Moriarty would somehow excel at not being cornered and Sherlock just knew that asking for an explanation meant he had **_lost_** whatever game they were playing. It was infuriating, but still the best little puzzle he had to figure out for a while. So, he gritted his teeth and just went on with it, wishing for Moriarty’s sake he had better make good on his time.

‘James? You’re ok?’ Molly asked, a bit confused.

He gave a nod and a shy smile.

‘Yeah, I think I must have had too much cake. But I’ll be fine!’ He added hurriedly when Molly’s face pinched in concern.

‘Oh, ok. Can’t get sick on your first trip to Hogsmeade right?’

John rolled his eyes at Molly’s exaggerate coddling and they all pushed their way toward the castle doors.

\-------------------------------------------------

‘What the hell do you need down the village Sherlock?’ John asked him, in way of doing some form of small talk as they strolled down to the village. ‘You always make a point to avoid the busy trips.’

He looked good, obviously enjoying the little bit of freedom granted out of school ground and making the most of it.

‘Dittany. Mine died.’ He answered factually.

His eyes were trained on Moriarty and Molly, talking animatedly a few feet in front of them. Moriarty looked… Open. He had a kind of carefree and _harmless _look about him. It was confusing, how it contrasted so much with his other self.

‘What do you need dittany for Sherlock?’ Asked John a little nonplussed.

‘Dittany, my dear John, is a powerful healing herb and restorative. A standard in potion making with medical intent.’

‘Yeah I know! I mean, why would you need your own supply for? The medical wing is stored well enough if you get hurt…’

Sherlock gave him his best, hearty yet dismissive smile.

‘I just need it John. For an experiment.’

‘We’re here!’ Pipped Molly excitedly.

They had rounded the hill and the village got suddenly displayed in its full cosy glory. It was nested between forest and mountains, a little heaven of quiet magic havoc in the secretive slopes of the countryside.

‘The only all magical village in Britain...’ Whispered Moriarty in awe.

A few minutes later they were in the very heart of the village. Molly was chatting about every shop they were passing as they fended through the packed groups of students on the main street.

‘Hey Watson!’ A feminine voice called suddenly.

A tall blonde made her way up to them with a big grin on her face.

‘I was on my way to the Three Broomsticks. Care for an early butterbeer before the others come in?’ She eyed Moriarty with surprise. ‘Or you got other plans perhaps?’

‘Morstan,’ Sherlock snapped with mock exasperation, ‘always a pleasure.’

She gave him a cheeky smile.

‘Oh, hello Sherlock, got dragged out of your den today?’

‘Mary, I…’ John turned to Sherlock, a little embarrassed. ‘I was to meet with the Quidditch team later, but I guess I could go early?’ He darted a quick glance to the other two with a clear ‘A_re you going to manage?’ _question hanging in the air. 

‘Don’t let me keep you, I am only here as long as it takes to complete my shopping.’

John just smiled and followed the Gryffindor keeper toward the Three Broomsticks. John liked her, but well… John liked a lot of girls. He was terrible at keeping a stable date though and Sherlock was only _in part_ to blame for it. It was just so irritating to see John chasing uninteresting females. Mary was not bad as far as John interest had run. Excellent keeper, decent wizard. Intelligent. She was a year older than them and had her head firmly set on her shoulders. Sherlock had to begrudgingly acknowledge she was _decent_ even if the thought somehow twanged his stomach_._ Things were yet to take a decisive turn but well, John could do worst. _Definitely._

His already thin enthusiasm for the trip now gone, Sherlock turned toward the other two to announce his intend to abandon them. Moriarty black eyes caught his and riveted his breath in his throat. Two big and knowing pools of black, nailing him from over Molly’s shoulder. A smile spread slowly on his lips.

‘And then after shopping for robes we could drop for a tea at Madam Puddifoot, she makes excellent cakes…’ Molly continued.

‘I’d better stick with Sherlock until then then!’ Moriarty cut in merrily.

‘Hu? Why? I don’t mind you coming along…’ Molly answered, a tad disappointed.

‘Oh, erm…’ He fidgeted a little and it looked natural, but it was so clear to Sherlock it was an act… ‘I don’t think I would be comfortable sticking to you while you do that kind of shopping you see. And I don’t want to keep you, you have been going on about these new robes for ages!’ He eyed her frayed sleeves meaningfully.

She blushed a little in embarrassment and Moriarty bumped her shoulder amicably.

‘We’ll meet with you once you’re done. I really want you to show me Zonko’s and Honeydukes!’

He gave her a warm smile and Sherlock felt something coil inside him. It was… weird. So long as Jim acted or was or whatever happened, boring and shy, he could not be bothered in the slightest by his interaction with Molly. But when he turned back to his sharp personality, their carefree behaviour grated Sherlock’s nerves raw. It felt hot jealous impulse… Wait he was not jealous, was he?

‘I see, I ought to have thought… How stupide of me… Sherlock, is that ok for you?’

‘I am fine with it.’ He answered immediately. ‘No problem at all.’ He added more slowly. He hoped his poker face would compensate for his rushed answer. But if the sly smile Jim was giving him from behind Molly’s back was anything to tell there was very little hope for it.

They parted and Sherlock took decisive strides toward his intended destination, fully expecting Moriarty to follow along in the narrow side streets.

‘So where are we headed?’ He asked with an impish smile. ‘Or I am to assume you are just guiding me to a quiet spot?’ He drawled teasingly.

It was not unusual for Jim to make inappropriate remarks. Sherlock usually pretended not to hear, as he had no idea how to react really. So, he kept quiet and Jim kept that little cognizant smile of his.

‘Dogweed and Deathcap. There are some herbs I need.’

‘Ah yes, _dittnay_. And what would you need a pain soothing herb for I wonder, dear Sherlock.’ Moriarty answered on the beat with a musing tone.

Sherlock breath caught and panic flared. Moriarty had heard his conversation with John. Moriarty, _Jim _was intelligent, Jim knew his secret... He forced himself to breath out calmly before he turned a raised eyebrow toward Moriarty. He looked intensely inquisitive but not _knowing_. Sherlock relaxed internally. He had not been busted yet. Moriarty just had uncanny instincts, like a hound sniffing blood.

‘Sometimes I get hurt when I try a thing or two with potions.’ Sherlock answered with a straight face.

Moriarty kept his gaze fixed on him for a few seconds more, looking impossibly close by the sheer intensity of his posture, before huffing and relaxing his stance.

‘All right Sherly, keep your secrets I’ll find them out myself soon enough. It’s more fun this way anyway.’

If Jim wanted to play, then Sherlock could give as well as he got. Beside the pet name did not sit well with him. It needled his ego.

‘You do know about secrets, don’t you?’ He seethed a little. ‘Got plenty of them yourself.’

‘Perhaps I do, perhaps I don’t.’ Moriarty answered with a shrug and a slight smile tugging at the corner of his lips. He drew closer. Too close for comfort really. ‘But I love to know it drives you marble not to know.’

Sherlock did not flinch away, keeping his face inches from Moriarty’s. He was so much smaller than him, his eyes about the hight of Sherlock’s lips, on which they were locked with a definite hunger about them.

‘Well, you’d better up you game soon.’ He whispered in challenge, not taking the bait. ‘I am getting quite bored of your little dance. And boredom doesn’t sit well with me.’

Jim withdrew his frame a little, as to get a better view of Sherlock, looking himself both teasing and taunting.

‘Oh, I know that, my dear, and I have been working on it already.’ He got closer again and whispered secretively in Sherlock ear. ‘Watch out for it, it’s gonna be grand. I am going to bring a little chaos to this way to quiet little school.’

And with a last drawn out look at Sherlock’s uncomfortable frame, he turned his heels and planted him in the empty, narrow street. He was unboxing a chocolate frog, Sherlock registered. After a minute of shocked silence, he patted his pockets suspiciously and cursed. The bastard had pickpocketed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I know I am slow to update this fic but if you like it make some noise! It is so much more motivating to write knowing a couple of people actually read it!  
My thanks to you!

**Author's Note:**

> If you like this let me know and I'll start working on it for real. As it is I just post it as a side work to see if people are interested.  
I have one set idea for this fic, but otherwise it is pretty much for fun. So if you have ideas or want to see things happen don't hesitate to comment. I will gladly read your ideas, both to have fun and see if they spin something in my inspiration ^^  
"Just trying to have some fun ..."


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